


Green Grow The Rushes-O

by completetheory



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Body Horror, Body Modification, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gender Issues, Hysterectomy, Nonbinary Character, Queer Friendly, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27125729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completetheory/pseuds/completetheory
Summary: Jan Pieterzoon incurs favor-debt for Hardestadt before even being Embraced.
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadScientific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadScientific/gifts).



> Therapeutic bit of fluff about one of my favorite Ventrue.

Jan Pieterzoon sat nude on the wooden examination table, with the sheet for their modesty folded up beside them. Somewhere, a clock kept sundial time, audibly ticking down the minutes they'd waited already. An English voice in the echoing halls of the Westminster Public Infirmary outside was singing. 

_Come and I will sing to you, what will you sing to me?  
I will sing you one-e-ry, what is your one-er-y?   
One is One and all alone, and ever more shall be so..._

The door opened, loud and close to the distant singing. Jan looked up, arms curled around one knee, eyes bright and attentive. It was the same attention they had visited months earlier on a man named Hardestadt the Elder, which had caught his roving eye, and so changed the course of Jan's life entirely.

This was not Hardestadt, and, judging by the curl of ram horn jutting from the sides of their head, it was a Tzimisce. The newcomer smiled, a peek of fang behind the comfort, "I'm Dr. Rubedo. You must be my patient, Mx. Pieterzoon." 

"Yes." Jan sat up straighter, "It's good to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice." 

Out in the hall, the singer had reached six or seven, but was also receding down the hallway, getting fainter as they went. 

"Not at all." The Tzimisce, with a jovial demeanor matched by a pleasant, but faint Scottish accent, took up a clipboard. "There are a few questions I need to ask you before we can begin. You understand that this procedure will sterilize you." 

"I do." 

A few pencil strokes. "You understand there is a small risk to the surrounding organs." 

"Yes." Jan said again, watching the horned vampire continue to write. Their eyes were hazel, and the pupils were rectangular, like a goat's. 

"You understand that there is a negligible, but extant, risk of death." 

Jan was quiet for a second, and then offered, "There's a much larger risk of death if you don't." 

Rubedo laughed. "Yes. Sthenic disease requires sthenic cure. Lie back." 

Jan complied, feeling the breeze on their skin that lifted the hairs on their arms. Talons blossomed from the doctor's knuckles, protruding pieces of bone honed to a razor's edge. Silence within, from without;

 _\--six for the six proud walkers, five for the symbols in your door,  
four for the Gospel makers, three, three, the rivals..._

"There isn't a way to make this not hurt initially. Be brave." Rubedo warned. 

Jan was accustomed to pain, and grateful for the small rag offered to them, on which to bite and maintain some sliver of decorum. They did scream; there was really no alternative. The white-hot agony soon ceded to a burning, a rippling pain, and the distress of internal disrepair, and then even that surrendered to numbness. Jan supposed the Tzimisce had finally gotten to the nerves, to blunt their shrieking bite of warning in Jan's hindbrain that a predator was attacking. 

Jan looked down, ill-advised, at a fist-sized lump in Rubedo's open hand, with trailing viscera, and despite feeling no pain, winced and felt nauseous. 

Rubedo spent some time internally rummaging. It could have been twenty minutes. It could have been an hour and a half. Jan was rapt and fascinated, observation alternating with ducking their head away. Rubedo retracted the bloodied talons and washed their hands in a bowl of water, toweling them off and then picking up a thread, and sewing up Jan as if they were a child's beloved doll. They glanced over, and met Jan's eyes. 

"It went very well. You have narrow hips. Would you like me to widen them a shade?" 

"No, I think I'm alright." Jan no longer trusted themself to lift their head, queasiness increasing, "I may vomit." 

"I doubt that." The vampire leaned over, "I was forbidden to give you my blood, even though it would speed your recovery to have it, but I am told the Praetor Hardestadt left one of his vials handy if you survived." 

_If you survived._ Jan smiled, but there was no pleasure in it. "Yes, I... would like that. Thank you. Thank him... for me."

"I will do so, Pieterzoon." Rubedo bit the thread, "Unusual, to work on a human. I have performed this surgery on ghouls, and even some Kindred. But you..." 

Jan said nothing, focusing on breathing. The pain was returning, and the Tzimisce moved away to seek both the vial of blood, and a particularly noxious looking bottle of viscous liquid, which they mixed together. 

"The blood will aid recovery time, and this," They held the other bottle up, "This may help you for the first few days to manage the pain. Your womb, and ovaries, and fallopian tubes, were all removed without incident." 

"Thank you." Jan whispered, accepting the vial without sitting up. Rubedo hoisted them half upright, slowly, and let them drink before lowering them again. "Hardestadt did this for a favor, didn't he. From you."

"Perhaps." The Tzimisce gave that smile again. "He spoke highly of your potential." 

Jan nodded, and although it was rude, dozed quiescently for a while there on the table. Perhaps it was an hour. From the hallway, they heard that familiar voice approaching again. 

_What is your eight-o? Eight for the eight bold rangers  
Seven for the seven stars in the sky..._

Jan opened their eyes again. A pale, corpselike vampire stood at the end of the table, whistling the tune of Green Grow The Rushes-O, with his hands in his pockets.

"I'm sorry I can't get up." Jan, ever polite, acknowledged their deficiency in etiquette. 

"No need. I was only letting Rubedo know I was about. Paying attention to you." 

Jan wondered why, but felt it better not to ask. They shifted just slightly, trying not to move too much, but decidedly uncomfortable on the table. "The doctor did a very good job. And I needed the surgery, it was worth the risk of failure. I didn't get your name, Mx..." 

"Cyscek." A nod. "You must have been desperate." 

"The hormones cause a mental disturbance." Jan sounded as though they repeated something they only vaguely comprehended scientifically and medically, but intimately understood anecdotally. "I hope now to be free of that. I had urges to self-slaughter, and terrible melancholy." 

Cyscek tilted his head. "Then I hope for that as well." 

Jan paused, and let the silence flower between them. The nausea came and went in waves, now perhaps a product of the pain medicine. "Did Hardestadt send you?" 

"No." Cyscek sat in a wooden chair by the door, "I sent myself." 

"I'm very tired." Jan apologized, again. 

"That's all right. Sleep." Cyscek invited. "I'll make sure no one disturbs you. Including me."

Jan was too overworked to laugh, but smiled encouragingly, "Nonsense. I like it. What are the bold rangers?" 

Cyscek considered it, "Angels. Or us. It depends who you ask." 

"Hardestadt doesn't believe in the vampire religion." Jan looked up at the ceiling, "Do you?"

"Not how they tell it. Are you sleeping?" 

Jan took a deep breath. "When I'm Kindred... will any of these human problems follow me?" 

Cyscek's gravel was fond, and warm. "You'll have all new problems."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have come to the (probably obvious) realization that writing Jan Pieterzoon as a sympathetic character while also acknowledging the nod that White Wolf made to the historic Jan Pieterzoon Coen, who was an undesirable human being at best, is not a great combination. 
> 
> Therefore I have tried to distance the character from similarities with the real guy.

"Attend me." 

Jan Pieterzoon had been on the mend for two weeks, and this alone was not sufficient - even with the advantages of a ghoul - to fully repair the surgical damage Dr. Rubedo had instigated through the hysterectomy. So when the young mortal got up, they abbreviated the motion with a silent wince. 

Hardestadt, unaccustomed to waiting for what he requested, looked over, almost puzzled, at the lack of Jan's materialization. "What is it?" 

A great many lies went through Jan's mind. These were formed of habit, where deception might be a preferable shield against the rages of Henricus De Heer, their erstwhile human father. Hardestadt, a sort of Kindred father, was very different in that he did not seem fond of lies, but neither did he rage at the truth. 

Therefore, "I still feel pain from the procedure." 

Hardestadt indicated the chair nearby. "Sit, then, and don't exert yourself. Where is the pain?"

Jan indicated the position, and Hardestadt considered the possibility of calling in Rubedo again. "How much does it hurt?" 

"Not terribly." Jan didn't want to incur even more trouble for Hardestadt, but truthfully, it was a manageable pain. They just couldn't move with the speed they wanted, or the dexterity. There was much scarring on their insides, and some on the outside - the top of their vaginal cuff manifested a shooting pain as it healed, and Jan leaned against the back of their chair, wanting to make a sound. For the same reason they had not punctuated the wince, previously, they maintained a stoic silence.

In short order, their window of opportunity for complaint closed. Another ghoul entered, announcing a Kindred's arrival - Damán Allaid Nullus. This was a waifish, incredibly short statured and raven haired individual, dressed in rags and covered in filth. Jan braced themself to get up and greet the visitor, as was customary for more powerful Kindred to use their ghouls as hands to enact their will, but Hardestadt waved them to inaction and stood instead. 

He gave Nullus a handshake full of heavy rings, and then indicated another seat. Nullus sat. Jan was trained not to prejudge too much by Kindred appearances, but did reproach themself for the instinctive glance for Gangrel features. This was surely, if not Gangrel, one of the clans of lesser status. Brujah, or Malkavian, perhaps. 

The confirmation came from Hardestadt. "Mx. Nullus is a Malkavian I have requested shadow you during your pre-Kindred training. But in light of your continual illness, I will request that ve also act as a health assistant to you." 

A Kindred, even one of lower clan, assisting kine? Jan didn't dare look at Nullus' face, not able to square with the potential wrath Hardestadt was courting, but heard the piping response loud and clear.

"Poor Gibraltar-zoon. Not to worry, you're on the mend. Your hollow is... hollower, now. Like a chocolate rabbit." 

Jan had very limited personal experience with Malkavians, but knew enough from hearsay not to be completely taken off guard by the colorful speech. "I appreciate your patience with me." 

"Patience with the patient..." Nullus mused, and then bowed to Hardestadt. Ve was so small, ve had very little ways to go before almost reaching the floor. "Jan could be in better hands, but worse ones, too. Everything is relative."

Hardestadt maintained decorum, dismissing them both to return to a discussion with several Nosferatu about local land ownership. Jan was happy to be out of the room, albeit finding it a struggle to walk long distances. They soon begged off to sit in the courtyard, where Nullus sat nearby and wrote in a calfskin journal. 

"So, Damán... That's an Irish name." Despite Jan's infirmity, they remained genuinely interested in people. 

"Is it?" Nullus answered, inexplicably, "What does it mean?"

"...I-... haven't the faintest idea." Jan admitted, "I thought you might." 

More writing, more scribbling, and a chewing on the nib of the small feather. "No. It'll make sense in a few hundred years. If we both make it there, I'll let you in on the joke. But you might already know by then. Or we both might be dead. I don't know. But I'm assuming I'll be alive for it. Or-... 'alive'." 

Jan watched ver with a quiet almost-admiration at the scattershot linkage of each thought, forming a constellation that very nearly resembled a recognizable idea. "You can see the future?" 

"Nah. I mean. Sorta. YMMV. See, I don't know half of what I know. And just imagine the other half. Whoo." 

Jan took refuge in silence, putting a hand over their mouth, "Please," They managed, "It does hurt to laugh as well."


End file.
